It's a misty evening. The moon is out, creating eerie white shapes as wafts of mist drift through the air. Crickets and night birds are singing. It's a beautiful evening for the time of year.

Vera paces. She is out near the outskirts of town. She left her own cottage an hour ago, unsure of what she was going to do or say, just knowing she wanted to do something. She had to come up with something to say. Perhaps improvisation would do it for her. But now, all these moments later, the prospect of improvisation did not comfort her in the least. She paced, in the dark street, beyond the eyesight of any of the windows. Not that there were many.

The people who stay here tend to be those who wished to remain out of eyesight of the rest of the town, or visitors. She can't really tell which one of those Davorin might be. She thought he would be a visitor, a temporary blip in the radar of her life. Yet he was still in town.

People of this town, they like to talk. They like to whisper and canive; but most of all, they liked to put people into boxes. Boxes, they understood. These people will be labelled favourable, intelligent, rich... high society. Based on a few tests and the basis of family tree and such things. Other were labelled not quite as fondly. Vera knew where she stood, she was not there to question or to change the order of things. She just wanted a peaceful life. Davorin, however, being a visitor, would scarcely be given another look. But he had been here for weeks now, and that was sure to get people whispering.

There is only so much avoidance of people one can do when one must go shopping and do other things that require the common amenities of a town. Vera had not yet heard any whispering of this man, of who he was (or rather of who people thought he was). No muttering of where he had come from, or why. She has her own suspicions, her own knowings. But her own knowing rarely coincided with those of the people in this town.

Vera stops pacing and turns to face the cabin. She walks towards it, so that he wouldn't have been able to see her pacing earlier. With a deep breath, she knocks on the door. Silence follows. She stands at the door, waiting. There are no lights inside.

'You're done pacing, are you?' A voice says from behind her.

Vera startles, turns around. Davorin approaches her with a sac in his hand. She doesn't reply. Davorin brushes past her, opens the front door.

'Come on then,' he says over his shoulder.

Vera steps into a sitting room. There is a simple wooden table in the middle with 4 chairs. Beyond that is a simple kitchen. To her it looks like this is a cabin rented to visitors. Simple, functional, temporary.

Davorin comes back into the room with two glasses of water. He places them on the table, sits down, and gestures a hand to one of the other chairs for Vera to sit.

'Hello,' she says.

'I believe you'd like to tell me why you stole from me?'

She swallows.

'I'm sorry I stole your stone,' she says softly. 'I just... I was feeling a bit desperate.'

Davorin peers at her with piercing green eyes. He doesn't say anything.

'I... I don't know how to say this. I can see ghosts. Kind of.'

'You wanted my stone to hone that ability I assume?'

'Well, yes, but just briefly. I was trying to speak to someone specific.'

'I'm not sure how you think I can help you.'

'I was hoping that if you could teach me how to use that thing for this one conversation then I could perhaps use that ability to talk to someone you might wish to communicate with. Or something like that.'

Davorin's eyebrow goes up. 'Interesting offer. What makes you think I have anything to say to anyone who is dead?'

'I don't. I was suggesting. What else would you like to bargain with?'

Davorin is silent for many moments. Without his cowboy hat on, his dark hair curls about his ears and forehead.

'You caused that fire, didn't you?'

Vera swallows, doesn't say anything. She inspects her fingernails.

'How did you manage to get that right?'

'Not sure what you mean,' she says quietly.

'Okay well something is obviously playing heavily on your mind, would you like to tell me what it is?'

'Not really,' she says, 'I just want to know if you can help me or not.'

'I suppose I can. I'm impressed that you managed to steal this from me and have the nerve to keep it even when I showed up at your house on more than one occasion. I will want something in return, but I'm not sure what that is right now. Let's call it a favour.'

'Okay.'

'Okay. Well we may need something stronger to drink. I remember you have a fondness for wine but all I have with me right now is rum. Hope that will suffice.'

'Thanks,' she says.

Davorin stands, makes his way back into the small kitchen.

Vera peers around the room again, feeling anxious. She's going to have to tell him what happened sooner or later. She chooses later.

There are two paintings hanging on the walls, both of scenery. Sure those must belong to the place and not to Davorin. The room smells like nothing either. Nothing at all to give anything away about this man.

He return with two tumblers, each containing about two fingers worth of rum, and an ice block. In his other hand he carries a can of soda.

'In case it's too strong for you,' he says.

She thanks him, takes the glass he offers. Pauses. Davorin takes a seat. Vera reaches forward, and swap their glasses.

He bursts out laughing. 'If anything my glass just contained a bit more than yours. If you think you can handle that then go for it.'

She smiles. 'Thanks.'

He lifts his glass, takes a whiff of the dark amber liquid, swirls it around the glass. His eyes fall over the rim of the tumbler and onto Vera.

'You are certainly unexpected,' he says.

'What do you mean?' she asks, taking a small sip of the liquid. It coats her tongue: hints of butter and macadamia nut, with a hint of vanilla and caramel. This is a good rum.

'You don't look like a thief. Or someone who 'sees ghosts'.'

'Not sure what to make of that. You don't give much away but I'll wager you are exactly what you appear.'

He laughs. 'Okay, give it a go. Judge me.'

Vera takes a sip of rum, swirls it in her mouth, and leans back. 'You're very good at something, or at least you think you are. Something traumatic has happened to you before. I can't figure out what it is that you do though.'

'How did you find out about me? And about the stone?'

'Hmm, now that would be telling,' she says.

Davorin tilts his head, observing her.

She smirks. 'Trying to judge me? Okay, give it a go.'

'I'm afraid I have already failed at that,' he murmurs, taking another sip of rum.

'How was my attempt?'

Davorin's green eyes almost glow in the dim light. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

'Please do explain what you mean about seeing ghosts. Sounds a bit like neurotic rambling.'

Vera hesitates. 'It started a few years ago. I thought I was seeing things. Obviously, who wouldn't think that? But then I spoke to him. Well I was actually speaking to myself, trying to snap myself out of it. And he heard me. He spoke back.'

'How many times has this happened?'

'A few times.'

'Can you call who you want to speak to or is this random?'

'I have called people before. It doesn't always work. Actually it hardly ever works. That's why I was hoping for some help.'

'Show me.'

'Show you what?'

'I want you to call a 'ghost' or whatever you call them. An talk to it.'

'You think I'm crazy.'

'I think you already know that I don't.'

Vera hesitates. 'I don't have what I usually use.'

'Ah yes, is that what you were trying to do the night I came to retrieve my stone?'

'Yes.'

'Try without all that. I want to see.'

Vera felt nerves rise in her body, tightening her chest, tingling down her arms.

'Or actually before you start that, are there any ghosts in here?'

Vera glances around. 'Well, not in this room, if that's what you mean.'

He chuckles.

Vera closes her eyes and tries to relax. She tries to slip into that state she feels when it happens. A calm, knowing, vibratory feeling. But the nerves in her body impede her progress, make her feel self aware. Think of memories, she tells herself, think of sweet memories... She thinks of the time when she and her sister left the house to get ice cream, after the first day of school, when the weather was warm, how she touched the ice cream to her sister nose and laughed, they laughed...

She opens her eyes. The room is still, nobody is there but Davorin, watching her. Her eyes dart around the room, hoping, but there is nothing else.

'Is that it?' he drawls.

Vera sighs. She glares at him.

'You have no idea.' he says very softly.

'I beg your pardon?'

He smiles. 'You need a mentor, young lady. Now I am no teacher. I am not a very patient man, nor a very permanent one, so I can help you find yourself a mentor.'

'I don't need a mentor. I don't want to do this... whatever this ability is. I just need to talk to one person.'

'You need a mentor. All of that ability inside of you needs channeling, whether you like it or not. It will come out in ways you don't expect, and it's better to learn how to control it. Trust me.'

Vera tilts her head. 'You can't see them, can you?'

'No.'

'What is it that you can do?'

He chuckles. 'I have other talents.' He smirks. 'I think I know just the person who can help you.'